


Mirrors

by butterflykeyboard



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflykeyboard/pseuds/butterflykeyboard
Summary: Sometimes you see yourself.Sometimes you can't help seeing what you want.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 2
Kudos: 89





	Mirrors

By candlelight, her reflection emerges from the shadows like a spectre. But her in the mirror is very human, so clearly grounded in this world. The smears of dirt, the wounds lined in dry maroon, the split lip, the black eye. She’s got no idea how she’s going to explain all of this to her parents when they get back.

She splashes some water, gets the dirt and blood off. Her stinging eyes are just from the pain and the dirt, right? The sullen girl in the mirror will never be the perfect, obedient doll they want her to be. Something for them to show off, to marry off. Well, fuck them. She’ll never be what they want to see. She won’t change to be what anyone else wants to see. She’ll be herself if even if it kills her.

As she runs a hand through her hair, she gets an idea. Her dad has a nice sharp razor. How hard could it be to use?

///

Beau turns the razor over in her hand, fingertips gliding over the intricate detailing on the handle. Her dad at least knew how to buy a razor – not a spot of rust and just as sharp as the day she borrowed it. She checks out her reflection in the blade – yeah, she’s definitely due for a shave. While she sets about getting ready, Jester – breakfast pastry in one hand – drifts over to see what she’s doing.

“Hmmm – oh, morning Jes. Hey do you have a mirror I can use?”

“Wait…yes! I have one in my disguise kit.” Jester digs into the pink haversack to fetch the bundle of pouches, and with a flourish produces a small mirror which she holds up. “Want me to hold it for you?”

“Sure.” Beau dips the cloth in the bowl of water she warmed over the fire, wets the side of her head. Bring the razor up, slow even strokes downwards, keeping her eyes on the mirror. She finishes one side, turns her head to finish the other.

Once she’s done, she checks her reflection to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. And, you know, she likes what she sees. A clean fade, a fresh face after a good night’s sleep, her muscles when she stretches her neck and rolls her shoulders.

“Like what you see?” Jester asks, a teasing note in her voice.

“Hell yeah I do. Like what you see?” Beau replies, flexing her arms.

Jester laughs, and Beau sees her eyebrows perk up as those blue eyes peek over the top of the mirror.

///

“This red one would look really nice on you!”

Jester peeks around the door of the wardrobe, holding up a red dress. Beau doesn’t get a very good look at it, because Jester quickly rushes up to push the dress into her arms, and while Beau notices the bows on the shoulders she’s already committed now. And besides, how bad can it be? The fit is tight, but not too tight (thankfully, teenage Jester seems to have been about as slender as current Beau). It feels a little short, but not to the point of immodesty.

With a deep breath, Beau turns to the full length mirror – and freezes. The sight of her own reflection suddenly seems so strange and disjointed. The dress – the bows, the ribbon around the waist, the floral detailing, all of it says cute and feminine. But then the lack of sleeves exposes her wiry arms, the length shows off her bruised and scraped knees, the fit around the waist just emphasises the V shape of her muscled upper body, it just doesn’t look right at all.

“Jester…did you own this dress when you were twelve?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even.

“Well…yeah,” Jester replies, and Beau can’t stop her groan from escaping. “But yeah, you know, you’re so slender I thought it would look good on you.”

“I look like I’m….trying out for a beauty pageant.” The more she looks, the more it just doesn’t look right, and those old memories of her dresser at home come back. The uncomfortable outfits, her mother fussing over her, the inevitable shouting matches, the ensuing defeat, the threats of punishment, the awkward parties –

“You look really lovely, but if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it. Obviously.” Jester breaks Beau out of her reminiscing, resting her head on Beau’s shoulder, hands on Beau’s waist while they both look into the mirror. Beau knows Jester can only see what’s in front of her – the bruises and the bows, the scrapes and the silk. She doesn’t care about what high society says, she doesn’t care about Beau’s past, she just knows what she likes to see. And from the smile on Jester’s face, she does like it. So, why not?

“No, no, I’ll wear it.” A smile grows on Beau’s face to match Jester’s as she poses for them both. “Hey, do you have one of those big hats, you know the ones the ladies wear on the beach.” If she’s doing this, she might as well commit.

“Oh, oh, I bet my mom does.” Jester’s face lights up with a smile, one that only widens as Beau tips her invisible hat.

///

It was nice, to run along the beach, to splash in the surf, to chase after Yeza and Luc, to eat good food and down fancy drinks, to float between the festivities and forget about the rest of the world, and she’s still smiling even on the way back up to Jester’s room.

Once Marion’s hat is returned, Beau finds herself in front of the mirror once again, and before she can say a word Jester has moved behind her to help her out of the dress. In the mirror she sees Jester stick out her tongue in concentration as she looks down, then she feels fingers brush against her back. Beau inhales, and she sees –

_She stands in front of a dresser, blue hands undoing a dress. The room is not the lavishly decorated Chateau, but a simple cottage. There’s no urgency in the fingers that slip the garment from her shoulders, in the arms wrapped around her waist, the soft kiss that lingers on her cheek. In the mirror, there’s a large bed, a dog and a weasel curled up at the end of it. And there’s Jester, fussing over her at the end of the day. Jester with a tender smile, with a deep blue gaze Beau could lose herself in –_

– and she breathes out. Jester’s now trying to tug the too tight dress off of Beau. “Oh, right.” There’s no elegant way to get out of this thing, but they manage. Then it’s Beau’s turn to help. She doesn’t need to look down at what her hands are doing, she’s dextrous enough (and has had more than enough experience undressing women). She’s not sure she wants to look up, but she sneaks a look at the mirror, and her gaze lingers on Jester. Jester with a tired smile, Jester with a slow blink as her head droops to the side. Jester staring into the mirror. What does Jester want to see reflected there? Maybe it’s two friends laughing and comparing dresses. Maybe it’s a blue princess in a regal gown, a strapping green sailor carrying her to bed. Maybe, just maybe she sees a monk twirling round and round, skirts flaring out as she tosses a wide-brimmed hat in the air.

Or maybe Beau needs to stop imagining this stupid shit. She’s drunk and tired and not thinking very straight. That must be it. She mumbles a goodnight once she’s done, but Jester is already fast asleep on the bed.

///

The morning light shows her everything. It’s not the harsh light of a spell, just the sun’s warmth shining through the windows. She can see her lines and scars and the bleary expression of someone with a hangover (nothing that a good breakfast can’t fix), but it’s all there, it’s all her. She splashes water on her face, stares at the reflection there. Nothing wrong with it.

But now she looks past it, to the room reflected behind her, to the large bed there, the covers only disturbed on one side. She knows the comfort a warm body beside her can bring, and she knows that comfort doesn’t often stick around the following morning. It’s something she can touch, something she can feel, but it’s not the same as a comfort one can see.

She recalls the previous night’s fantasies, and they’re just as vivid on this cool morning. It would be nice to look in the mirror and not be alone.

It would be nice to see Jester there.


End file.
